


a widely acquired tense

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [9]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Challenge 4 Side RP - Arin Schreave
Relationships: Jen Li/Arin Schreave
Series: Selection OC 6 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209





	a widely acquired tense

**Author's Note:**

> 0 to 80, they speed.
> 
> Yet another occurrence of Asshole Arin, followed by an appearance of Mr. Consent Man.
> 
> Me, Grammarly, and God.
> 
> Warning: This gets a tiny bit NSFE (You'll wonder how about halfway through. Just remember 0 to 80)
> 
> TW: More references to sexual assault

Days later, Jen had finished the book multiple times through and still didn’t put it away, poring over each word over and over until it was well into the middle of the night, staring at the pages with bleary eyes. Her notebook was filled with notes, not just from the Six’s story but from the others’ too.

Each caste had it rough, but there was nothing more indescribable than the one of Eights. She imagined anyone being forced onto the streets to basically become the vermin of modern society would be unhappy with the situation, but it was easy to look at it from a lens that completely disassociated oneself from the idea. Jen knew, though. She knew how these people lived from just a few helpless hours on the streets.

Her maids would eventually alert her that it was time for meals, which she both looked forward to and loathed at the same time. She never liked to be pulled away from work, spent Finals Week every year functioning on a concerningly little amount of food and sleep, but no one had been expecting her then.

They were down to 14 now, almost a third of what they’d started with. Aside from Idalia, she hadn’t really let herself get to know anyone. With eliminations happening so rapidly, she wasn’t sure she could handle anyone she cared about leaving. Idalia’s relationship with Arin was already not the best as far as she knew, so she feared it may only be a matter of time before she was completely alone.

Maybe not completely alone. Though a new one, one she hadn’t spoken to since yet another fateful night in the wee hours of the morning kitchen, Arin Schreave was a possibility. For what, she didn’t know, but she hoped to find out soon.

Meals were easier to eat now, and this was one of the days she actually found herself actually hungry, a little more at ease with the chatter of conversation around her, even if she didn’t contribute to it. This was one of the days she was comfortable.

After dinner, she changed back into a tank top and shorts and headed out with her book tucked under her arm in pursuit of some kind of change of scenery. Outside was immediately ruled out because even when it would be approaching dark soon, the heat was not her friend. The Women’s Room was always too busy to focus on anything important. That only left her one other option as far as she knew.

The library had to be the place she frequented most in the palace, and she spent most days exploring it, acquainting herself with each section little by little. She didn’t often go up to the second level because most of the topics were of little interest to her, but while searching through the 300s, she did come across a small sitting area with two couches deep into the stacks that didn’t seem to be used all that much. That was where she settled down, her legs crossed underneath her as she went through the Seven’s and Eight’s chapter yet again.

The Seven worked in construction, a back-breaking job that paid decently but often left people permanently injured by age 40. She’d enjoyed many aspects of her job, but after getting injured on the job and left without insurance, she’d been forced to resign from her job. Looking for new employment as an injured, female Seven was no easy task, however, because with an injury, her options were already limited, and the fact that she was a woman left her being taken out of the pool of job consideration long before she even had a chance.

The Eight did what she had to. That had been the first line of her chapter. She’d been born addicted to drugs and treated at the hospital before being given to an Eight children’s home. That had simply been the beginning of her life on the streets. Her chapter was the longest and most extensive, and she spoke mostly of the rampant sexual abuse associated with their caste. Any shelter, any job, there was always a catch.

It made Jen think back to the prostitute on the street in Waverly, and she wondered how she was doing now so many months later. Perhaps she’d been caught and thrown in jail, or still out there working, or bettering herself. Or, perhaps, she was yet another case of a sex worker being murdered with no one to report them missing.

The reality of it was jarring, even after reading the chapters as many times as she had. So many stories. So much to think about, and never enough time.

A ringing snapped her out of her reverie, her eyes darting up from the page to look for the noise, and though it sounded like a bell, it manifested itself in the form of Arin Schreave.

Jen didn’t exactly jump at the intrusion, but her heart raced for a moment before she actually processed who it was. In all honesty, it might’ve raced a little more after the realization. The last time she’d been alone with him, they’d made out on a kitchen counter at almost 2 AM, and now they were alone, deep in a library. Very different areas, but her thought process was the same. “What was that?” she asked him, smiling a bit as she sat up straighter.

“What was what?” The look he gave her told her he didn’t seem to know, but she knew it was bullshit. He walked over to the couch situated across from her and leaned against the back of it. His gaze went to the book she was holding, and at the sight, he smiled just a bit.

“The ringing.”

He reached into one of his pockets for a moment before pulling out an item and tossing it to her. “That?”

She caught it automatically and stared down at it, even more confused than she’d been before he’d given it to her. “Are you going to tell me why you have a dog collar in your pocket?” It was red and small, the only tag on it a little bell that was obviously the source of the noise she’d heard.

There was a small smirk on his face. “Well, someone told me I should warn them next time I decided to sneak up on them. And luckily I have a friend with some sneaky patients and he kindly gave me that.” 

He nodded toward the collar, and she looked down at it again. When he’d scared her in the library the last time, things had been very different then. That was the first time he’d looked at her like he actually cared, and she’d pushed him so far away that he couldn’t get close even if he wanted to. She regretted that night for many reasons. “That's... weird but strangely sweet.” She tossed the collar back to him. “Carry on.”

He shoved it back into his pocket and nodded. “Glad I got your permission.” His eyes settled on the book again. “How was it?”

She looked back down at it for a moment, at the pages that were so familiar now but needed even more analysis to be comfortable giving it up. “I liked it a lot. I'm just... rereading certain sections now. Thinking about things.” She could feel her smile falter but did her best to keep it on.

“Things?” he asked as he walked around the couch to sit on it, now across from her completely, leaning against the back.

She hummed her agreement. “The author gives a lot of things to think about.” An avoidance of subject but narrowly.

“Such as?”

There it was. A part of her hoped he didn’t ask because she knew it would be a slippery slope to go down, but she hadn’t spoken to a word to anyone yet about the book at all. “The, uh…” She looked down at the book again, the words formed but seemingly unable to come out. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, just not how to say it. “Sexual assault disparities between castes.”

He blinked once, completely silent. An expected reaction, yes, but that didn’t make it any less disappointing. He stayed still for a moment before slowly nodding. “I'm not exactly up on my data. Maybe you could fill me in?”

Facts. She could deal with facts. At least he didn’t ask why she was interested in it, though she still couldn’t meet his eyes more than a few seconds at a time. At this rate, he could presume. “Well,” she began, clutching the book a little tighter, “Lower castes are the most at risk, but I feel like that's an easy assumption to make.” A little more comfortable, she looked up at him. “Sixes statistically have the most reports.” Something about working in people’s homes tended to put them at elevated risk for assault, yet they had little to no protection with even fewer legal means to pursue a case of arrest. Abusers were able to continue for however long they wished to without repercussions.

“Really? I didn’t know that.” He was frowning but looked interested, at least. “I guess I always assumed it was pretty across the board.” Another moment of silence. “A dumb thing to assume, I guess.”

“It is still, just... not as much for some.” She glanced back down to the book again before returning to his eyes. “You've read this author before?” An easy subject change, but she was also genuinely interested in it. He had to be at least somewhat familiar with Dawson to have brought her to a book signing, enough to know she wrote the kind of books Jen liked.

He nodded. “I have, but not this book.” He frowned a bit as his eyes went to hers. “What’s that look?”

She wasn’t exactly sure what look she had on her face, but she tried to neutralize whatever it was, though she wasn’t sure if it was successful. “What look?”

“The look you still have on your face,” he said, pointing a finger at her.

She glared at the finger. “I think that’s just my face. Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not.”

She settled back into the couch, crossing her arms as she stared back at him. “Guess you’ll have to deal with it then.”

He shrugged. “Well, then I guess you'll just have to deal with me sitting here in silence. Because I know you're lying.”

Whether she kissed him or not, he would always be insufferable. “Fine. Sit there all night.” She looked back down at the pages of her book, eyes scanning over the words but not really reading. “Let me know when you approve of my face.”

She didn’t look up, but she could see him shift on the couch out of her peripheral vision to lie down on the couch. When she glanced up, he was staring straight up at the ceiling with his legs on the couch looking obscenely long.  _ Too tall. _ She looked back down at the page and actually managed to get through a few pages before she snapped. “This isn't the type of book I'd expect you to support.”

“And why’s that?” he asked, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Nothing. It’s just…” She glanced at him again, debating whether it was a good idea to say, and she knew it really wasn’t, but there was nothing much holding her back anymore. She and Arin had kissed, sure, but she could make out with him without excluding him from her opinions. “I don’t expect much from the monarchy.”

“And what am I supposed to say to that?” He scoffed. “‘I don't expect much from the... peasants?’” he added, sounding like he was mostly joking, and there was hesitation in the last word. 

He still didn’t look at her, and Jen simply sat there, a bit surprised at the outburst, but it was just another taste of the emotions and opinions he liked to hide. “I just thought it was interesting. Gregory Illéa didn't set a great precedent.”

He looked over at that and raised an eyebrow. “Insulting my ancestors now, I see.”

She hummed a little. “Good people can descend from the bad ones.”

“And what if I don't think he's a bad person? Just misunderstood.”

_ Oh.  _ They were going there then. She could do that. “There are always things to understand about people.” She looked back down at the book. “But I can't justifiably condone terrible actions with the excuse that someone is 'misunderstood.'” Another glance up. “Personally.”

“Okay.”

She narrowed her eyes at the lack of response and even more when he shrugged and looked back up at the ceiling. Then again, it was Arin. “That's all you're gonna say?”

“Yeah.”

She swore he had two different personalities sometimes. In the kitchen, he’d been the worst she’d ever seen him and the softest within a few minutes. Though, she supposed she was the same. She looked back down at her book. “You’re kinda an asshole.”

“And you’re observant. What’s your point?”

“Just thought you should know,” she told him, eyes not straying from the words on the page, though they didn’t process any, and for an extra blow, she added, “Next time I want to make out on the kitchen counter, I'll find someone else to do it with.” Vaguely, she wondered whether Wylan would be up for it, but she quickly crossed him off the list. 

“Then I wish you the best of luck.” 

The way he said it sounded like he was doubting her ability to do so. “You don’t sound very convinced.” She couldn’t say she was the most attractive in the Selection by far, but she liked to think her face was nice. Maybe a little too skinny with not much boobage to go around, but that had never been much of a hindrance. She’d attracted her fair share of men before and now was no exception. There was the simple fact, however, that she was technically not up for grabs by anyone aside from the Prince of Illéa, as sexist as it sounded. She wasn’t sure if that would be a hindrance.

“I thought you didn't care about my opinion.” He smirked a bit.

She half-rolled her eyes as she looked back down at her book. “Actually, I'm very interested in your opinion, so I'm not sure where that thought came from.”

His gaze goes back up to the ceiling. “If you're interested then just ask. I'm not interested in playing these kinds of games.”

_ Noted. _ “Here I thought you liked playing games.” She looked back up, sitting back a little against the couch as she considered him. “You're not exactly the most forthcoming person, so forgive me if I try to play some here and there.”

He sighed before shifting his feet back onto the floor to sit up, looking at her fully now. “Jen…”

She ignored the way her mind seemed to push the memory of the last time he’d said that pushed at her consciousness.  _ His eyes on hers as he steps back. He didn’t want to let go yet. “Goodnight, Jen.” _ There was no time to run through those thoughts, no matter how much she wanted to. “Yes?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “I'm tired of this. Just ask.”

_ Just ask. _ That had never worked out very well any other time she tried. “So you're done being evasive just because you don't want to talk?” She found it hard to believe.

He tilted his head to the side as he watched her. “No promises.”

Jen supposed that was the best she could ask for at the moment. “Fine,” she agreed and clutched the book a bit tighter. “Opinion on the castes.”

He didn’t take long to answer. “Outdated but the foundation of Illéa.”

It was a familiar phrase, something she’d heard many times during high school, but never did agree with it, and the way he said it sounded so rehearsed somehow. “Foundation in what way?”

“Everything in Illéan society is dependent on castes. From our financial system to…” He paused. “Well, everything.”

While a valid argument, she’d always considered it a shit one too. “Maybe, but what if that foundation isn't a suitable support system in the first place? Doesn't matter how many cracks you fill to keep up with it because it'll all come crashing down eventually.”

“And one day maybe someone will solve the problem. But until then you can’t crest thousands of smaller problems to solve one large one.” He sat back against the couch. “It would be counterproductive.”

“Exactly. So solve the large one,” she said, matching his stance against the couch, as if it were that easy. In reality, she knew how these things worked. She’d had just as good of an education in political science as he did, though she would give him credit for having better hands-on experience than her. Simplifying anything in politics was an ideal that was never close to the reality of things.

“It wouldn't work,” he said, shaking his head. “And besides, I'm not really in charge. That would be the queen.”

“Of course  _ you _ aren’t in charge.” She imagined he was in some sort of capacity while his mother was away, but they wouldn’t leave anything major in his hands. “God knows I wouldn't put my life in your hands, let alone the country's.”

Any shred of amusement vanished from his eyes, and that was when she realized her honesty might’ve gone too far. “Well, then I guess I'm glad I've spent the last 23 years learning how to do a job you wouldn't trust me to do.”

“That really didn't come out the way I meant it to.”

“Which part?”  _ This isn’t good. _ “The part where you said you don't trust me to take care of a country?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or the part where you said you wouldn't trust me with your life?”

“I wouldn't trust a 23-year-old to keep my car for a weekend. It wasn't meant to be a slight to your character. We're just fucking stupid, and that's a fact.” It was time to back up, she realized, because he really didn’t look happy at the words, even if they were mostly meant jokingly. For the most part. “And I don't trust anyone with my life, so I guess that part's true.”

“But at the same time, it was. You wouldn't trust me with a car and yet you want me to dismantle the entire backbone of a country.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath that was more unsettling than it should’ve been. She seemed to have hit a nerve she hadn’t meant to. When he opened his eyes again, he tilted his head, and she swore she felt her stomach drop. “So what you're saying is as long as I do what you want or think is right.”

“I…” There were so many things she wanted to say at once, but they all seemed to die on her tongue at once. She wasn’t often left without defense, but this seemed to be one of those times. “That’s not what I meant.”

“How did you mean it then?” He took another deep breath, like he was trying to calm himself. “Because if you look at it from my point-of-view you had no problem telling me what I should do with the country right before you told me you don't trust me.”

She supposed she could understand his point-of-view. Her lack of trust in him wasn’t due to anything he’d done exactly, but it wasn’t something she was willing to address with him either. “I don't trust you because you're 23 years old for God's sake. You're supposed to make mistakes without the accountability of a country on your back, which is why, no, I wouldn't completely trust you with it.” She scoffed as she leaned back into the couch. “And I just wanted to know whether we had any semblance of compatibility and whether I should tell myself to stop liking you. I know you don't have any power and don't have that ability to dismantle the castes, and I never said to do it right now.” 

She’d just wanted to talk about it, see where his head was at about it. She wasn’t clueless enough to think he actually had political power. Influence, maybe a good amount at this point, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots in actuality. She wasn’t an idiot. “Also, I may regret telling you this, but for the record, I think you do a good job at whatever the hell you do and appreciate that you get up every fucking morning to do it.” At that, she glanced away from the sheer accusations. “But you know, not like you care about my opinion.”

“I never asked you to like me or not. I never even asked you to be here.” His voice was as calm and collected as it had been before. Calmer than hers. “You say you want a friend but then all you want are answers—but there are these moments where you just aren't there. What am I supposed to do with that when sometimes it feels like any understanding between us is conditional?”

_ I never asked you to like me or not. _ The sentence nagged at the back of her mind, but she didn’t have the willpower to get into that yet with either him or herself. “What the hell do you want me to tell you?” she spat instead. “Ask because I'll tell you right now so that you can stop feeling like things are  _ conditional. _ ”

“Anything!” His volume raised to a level she’d never heard it. “Anything! I’m tired of all this shit being straight from files!”

“Anything? You could have just fucking asked me instead of using files as a cop-out.” They’d had this conversation already, and she thought they’d gotten over it, but apparently not. He was just as cemented as he always was and expecting her to open up without taking the step forward himself. Well, if he couldn’t, then she would take the plunge if that’s what he wanted. “Fine, you keep asking why I can't go home, and it's because there's someone I can't see there.” She threw up her hands. “That’s the reason.”

Someone she never wants to face again. Someone she hated even thinking about. Someone who took everything from her. Those were the things she didn’t say. Arin didn’t have to know.

“Then avoid them!” He shot up from the couch and started pacing. “I’m just sick of the tears without explanation. It’s a guy—I get that. But I’m not him, so don’t act like I am.”

_ Avoid them. _ What did he think she was doing? Did he think she was here for fun? Because  _ none _ of this was fun. The fact that he was acting like he knew what he was talking about, like he knew a semblance of what had happened to her was what pissed her off the most. She shot up off the couch as well, standing at her full height as she watched him pace. “Fuck you.” She heaved a heavy breath as he stopped at her words. “He fucking assaulted me, so I'm sorry my tears are inconvenient to you. I'll be sure to cry into my goddamn pillow next time.”

He turned to her then, the previous anger and frustration gone from his voice when he spoke. “Jen?”

She could already feel her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of him again. “What?” The word was hissed out. “What do you want me to say?” She took a step forward. “Do you want me to tell you what he did?” Another step. “Do you want me to tell you how he tried to ruin my life?” She kept walking forward until she was right in front of him. “How much do you want to justify how fucking hurt I am and how I just want someone to look at me like I wish he did?”

She just wanted him to love her. She just wanted  _ someone _ to love her. He didn’t. He couldn't have, not really, and even though parts of her knew it wasn’t true, it felt like no one ever would again.

And now Arin knew.

_ To the grave. _

His silence was what spoke the most.

She watched as he froze in place when her words seemed to finally hit. He stumbled back onto the couch across from her, but he didn’t look at her, eyes staring down at the slight shaking in his hands. For a while, there was nothing, and he just sat there while she stood. Nothing. She wasn’t sure what else to expect.

“I’m sorry.”

The words caught her off guard, and the anger seemed to drain at once. She was ready to go on, let out everything she’d been holding in onto him, but she didn’t.

She wasn’t sure whether he meant he was sorry for being an asshole or sorry for what happened to her, but she supposed it didn’t matter. It was just nice to hear the words. 

_ I’m sorry. _

She really hated crying, but she never seemed to be able to stop it anymore.

At some point, she found her way to the opposite end of his couch, wiping those stupid tears off her face. “You know, for someone who doesn't want me to cry, you seem pretty intent on making it happen.”

He still didn’t look at her, didn’t do anything to indicate he heard her until a good 30 seconds later. “Well, at least I can be consistently good at something.”

She wiped her eyes again, just knowing she was already looking like a mess. She was sure he was used to it by now though. “What do you mean?” Cryptic even now, but he was like that a lot.

He looked over at her finally. “You’d never be happy with me. That person you’re looking for... I’m not him. I wasn’t for  _ her. _ ”

It was obvious who he meant, but what wasn’t obvious was why he was telling her. They’d kissed once. She didn’t even understand most of her feelings for him at this point, let alone conceive the idea that she could be happy again at all. “I'm not looking for anyone, and even if I was…” She paused, not really sure how to end that sentence.  _ Even if I was, it doesn’t matter. _ “I understand what it's like to judge your whole person on one relationship, but you shouldn't.”

He tore his gaze from hers. “I’m not. Trust me. You’re blameless, and I’m not.”

_ Blameless. _ That was the first time anyone had told her that. Even if it wasn’t true, she would hold it close. “You keep talking like you've made these huge, detrimental mistakes.”

“Haven’t I?” He was quieter now, leaning back against the couch and staring forward as one hand went into his pocket to jingle the little bell on the collar. 

“I doubt it.” There were few things that were better than enabling adultery, especially against a woman who had been so kind to her through everything. Georgia was like… a second mother to her, and she’d still done this to her. Though, she had to tell herself not to put all the blame on herself. In the beginning, it wasn’t her choice. “Our heads have a way of fucking with us. I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as you think it is.”

Arin didn’t say anything, simply removing his hand from his pocket along with the collar and offering it out to her. She accepted it despite not knowing what the gesture actually meant. It was just nice to have something to do with her hands when she had no idea what else to say. Jen had read something once that thoroughly explained the upbringing of English noble girls in the 19th century, their education based almost entirely on the necessity of marrying up the ranks. It was revolting, of course, but one bit she found particularly interesting for her situation was the fact that from very young ages, these girls’ governesses would take them in long strolls about their vast gardens, and at every turn or new bush, the girl would have to come up with a new topic of conversation at the tip of a hat. This would ensure that when talking to a suitor, even the utmost dull and untalkative companions, there would never be a lull in conversation. It was considered a necessity of survival to attracting a mate of class and dignity.

Jen, however, was not one of these girls well-practiced in the art of conversation, and even if she was, she doubted her governess would’ve covered the topic of  _ What to do after you tell a prince you were assaulted? _ She figured she might start with a little honesty. “You're the first person I've told, you know.”

“Why me?” The disbelief was clear in his voice, but he could’ve been a little subtler about it.

“Why any of us?” She gave him a sharp glance. “I didn't choose you. I just had no one else to tell, and you were... Well, you were there.”

He noticeably stiffened at that before giving her a nod. “Okay.”

Usually, Jen would’ve been content with that. Sometimes fewer words spoke louder, but something about this didn’t feel right. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you making me feel like I did?” she tried to snap, but it came out more exasperated than she meant it to. She could tell it wasn’t alright. She wasn’t an idiot, but she was tired of his shit.

“I’m sorry.” There it was again. His eyes went to the collar in her hands. “I didn’t mean to. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

_ You didn’t do anything wrong. _ But she did.

Jen looked down at the collar as well and clutched it a little tighter, her thumbs continuing to fiddle with the little bell as she searched for something to say, anything to reply to what he’d said. There was so much to say yet so little she wanted to share at the same time, but she figured there was one good place to start. “I don't mean to not be there or make our friendship conditional like you said. I just... Sometimes things remind me of him, and I wish they didn't.”

_ Fingers. Hands. Thighs. Versace. Yale. _ The list kept growing. Ian had slowly inserted himself everywhere, and now she couldn’t escape.

“Do I?” Arin asked, his voice hesitant.

A dangerous question, but he was one of the lucky ones. There were a lot of factors that went into figuring something like that out, and even she wasn’t sure during the few times she’d let herself ponder the idea, but she knew the real reason deep down. “Sometimes things you do remind me, but it's never you.” She looked at him then and scooted closer, her eyes just a bit softer than they were previously because she wanted to reassure both of them of this fact. “I know that because when I look at you, I can forget, even if it's just for a few seconds.”

She heard his catch the slightest bit, but he didn’t speak again, just looked back down at the collar in his hands like it was some sort of truce between them. She didn’t completely mind the silence, but it was a few heavy sentences, and it felt wrong to leave them like that. “Please don't act differently around me now.” She immediately wanted to offer him her hand, but she was reminded again of the back of his car when everything piled up at once and she broke down in front of him. She didn’t want that to happen again. It was, however, contrasted with the memory of that night or, rather,  _ those _ nights in the kitchen. The night they held each other on the floor like nothing else mattered. The night they kissed against the backdrop of cookies burnt to a crisp. Those were memories she treasured. Those were the times she’d put enough trust into him that she’d allowed even some semblance of vulnerability out to meet him halfway. She supposed she could do it once more. She held out her hand. “I like how we act together.” A small smile. “Even if it could use a little less fighting.”

She relaxed a little when he accepted her hand, grateful for the contact finally. “I don’t know the right thing to do or say,” he said, heaving a breath.

“Stop thinking.” She scooted even closer and gave a squeeze to his hand because he really looked like he needed it. “Just do what feels right, and... I'll tell you if it isn't okay.” That was a luxury she hadn’t really had before. 

Arin looked down at their entwined hands. “This is okay?”

She followed his gaze, making a small note on how much she liked how they looked together before giving him a small smile. The answer was an obvious yes, but he was still asking. She would be grateful for that. “Yeah,” she told him with another squeeze to his hand. “Very okay.”

“Okay.” His eyes went back to the collar in her lap, not seeming to know what to say, but she smiled down at the object. Perhaps it was polite to offer it back, but she didn’t. Not yet.

“We really should have a conversation that doesn't involve us fighting or me crying sometime. I think it might be nice.”

“So far it seems like anything can lead to us fighting.” He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn’t refute him, just say there as he stroked the thumb of the back of his hand.

She huffed a laugh. That really was the truth if she’d ever heard it. “You’re right. We’re dumbasses.”

“Dumbasses?”

“Yes,” she said, not bothering to explain. They just were. “We need to have one normal conversation. No fighting, no crying. Something foolproof.” She looked up at him, eyebrows raised as everything suddenly felt easier. Smiling, joking, all of it. She could do it now.

Arin shook his head. “Anything can be fought over if you try hard enough.”

She turned to him fully now, pulling her legs under her as she faced him. “Then maybe you should pick a topic you have no interest in fighting over.”

The silence stretched on for a few moments as he stared at her, not saying anything until suddenly… “Bees,” he blurted out.

“Bees,” she repeated incredulously, but, really, she wasn’t that surprised. She scooted closer. “Alright, we can talk about bees. First question: Why do you call me that?”  _ Bombus. _ That stupid name she’d grown fond of.

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows as he watched her, looking a combination of at ease and comfortable at the same time. “Because why not?”

“Just wondering, Dreamsicle.” Noticing in the little shift in his reaction, she smiled a bit and looked down at their hands again.  _ Fit together so well. _ She settled her back into the couch, this time with their arms almost touching. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Are you okay?”

She actually considered her answer because it was a question she’d often neglected to ask herself, but she found that here and now, she really was. “I’m fine. Are… we okay?”

He gave a slow nod. “I think we are.” He looked over at her again, though it was a little ridiculous with how close they were at this point. 

She squeezed his hand again, just because she could. “Good. I didn't mean to put everything on you all at once, but is it selfish to say I'm kinda glad I did?”

“Why would it ever be selfish?”

“You never asked for this,” she said, looking down at their hands, meaning multiple things. He never asked for her, whatever this relationship they had was, or the baggage she’d brought with her. “I feel like I shouldn’t.”

“Neither did you.”

She looked up at him to find his eyes already on hers, and she couldn’t help but smile a little bit.  _ I never did ask for it either. _ “I guess I didn't. Can't help but wish things were different.”

“Different how?”

So much. 24 years old, and she already had so much she wanted to erase. “Some choices I've made in life have been less than desirable. I feel like…” She stopped herself, still on the edge about sharing this much, but she was here now, and Arin wasn’t stopping her. “Maybe I wouldn't be like this.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “Maybe you wouldn’t be like this.”

She gave him a little glare, but she couldn’t exactly argue. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel,” she said with feigned annoyance.

“Well... Now I really feel like now I know what drove you to a life of Cheeto thievery.”

She was silent for a moment, definitely not expecting that, but she supposed it could’ve been worse. She scoffed, turning to him with her arm pressed to his. “What if I just like stealing your Cheetos?”

“I think you should find another hobby.” His mouth quirked into a smile. “And it definitely shouldn't be baking.”

“I don't recall you having a problem with my baking skills in the end.” She tore her eyes away to stare forward, knowing he would know exactly what she meant.  _ Her thighs against his waist, his hands on her back, his lips on her. _ “And since we're being honest apparently, I think you may be the weakest link in our baking duo.”

“I disagree. I think you're the reason cookies keep burning around here. I have no other explanation.” She could tell he wasn’t entirely serious only because of the way his thumb kept rubbing against the back of her hand.

“I recall walking into a kitchen one night when you were fighting the fire alarm.” She looked over at him, eyebrows raised from the audacity of the statement. “Or will you blame that on me too?”

He shrugged. “I think the cookies knew you were coming so they self-destructed.”

“Right, because you definitely weren't distracted the first and second time.”

He nodded. “Right. How could I have been? Nothing memorable happened.”

_ Oh, really? _ “Nothing memorable,” she muttered. She didn’t recall that being the case, but then again, who knew how many girls he was kissing? She supposed she had to make him remember then. “Nothing at all?”

He didn’t speak immediately, but she heard his breath catch the slightest bit. “No, nothing at all.”

She hummed and leaned a little more in, resting her chin on his shoulder. A dangerous move. “Not a single thing.”

“None whatsoever.” His eyes stayed on her a long moment before he turned his head away, just happening to position himself perfectly for what she wanted to do next.

Jen shifted onto her knees and took a small breath before leaning and brushing her lips over his exposed neck. “Nothing rings a bell?”

“What are you doing?” His voice was low, but he didn’t move.

She pulled away just slightly, realizing this really may not be what he wanted. “I'm sorry. I—Do you want me to stop?”

One word. One word, and she would pull away. She felt him stiffen just slightly, but he didn’t. “Only if you want to.”

Her hand came up to rest on the side of his chest opposite to the one she was pressing against, her heart racing as she looked at him. “I don’t want to stop.” And she didn’t. She’d told Arin one of her biggest secrets, and he had stayed. They’d kissed, and he stopped when she wanted him to. She felt safe even in a secluded part of the library. Safe was a luxury she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“If you’re sure,” he breathed out, his hand coming up to rest against the one on his chest.

Jen pressed her lips against his neck before looking down at them, not entirely sure what she wanted to happen after this, but the position was awkward, so she sat down and threw her legs over his lap. With the new position, she buried her face into his neck as her hands went to unbutton just two of the buttons on his shirt. She brushed her fingers over the exposed skin of his chest before pressing her lips to his jaw. “You remember something from that night now?”

One of his hands went to the top of her knee, fingers rubbing circles into it with her thumb, while his other hand went to her hair. “No,” he breathed out. “Nothing at all.”

She moved her face until her lips were right next to his ear. “What should I do to get you to remember?”

His fingers stopped rubbing her knee, instead gripping it for a moment before reaching up to press it against the side of her, leaning his head toward her so she could actually see most of his face now. “

“I—” He was asking. Even when she was making this about him, he was asking. And there were so many things she wanted, but one in specific she was intent on getting again. “Fuck, please kiss me again.”

Arin simply murmured out a “Yes” before his lips were on hers, gentle and firm as he shifted to face her even more, and she couldn’t help but lean even further into his touch. Her fingers undid another button on his shirt, going to his chest as his hand dropped to her thigh. “Is that alright?” he asked after pulling away, his breathing heavy.

_ His hand on her thigh, he squeezes. A friendly gesture, almost, but it wasn’t. She could— _

She shifted his hand a bit lower toward her knee. A little safer, but still on her thigh. “Right there is good.”

“Okay.” He nodded as his thumb rubbed over the bare skin of her thigh. “What do you want?”

It was watching him with his eyes on her so intently that she realized why he was asking. He was afraid of being him, accidentally doing something to make her hate him. She leaned in to kiss him again, short enough to get the point across. “You’re doing good.” She reached up to brush her fingers over his hair before leaning in to kiss him again, pulling just enough away to murmur, “So good.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, gasping for breath, but he leaned in to kiss her again. She didn’t pull away immediately either, too lost in how good this felt. How  _ safe _ this felt, even after everything. Testing the waters of something new, someone new. This was the first time she’d ever really thought about it.

God knew she wouldn’t mind going further, but it was such a bad idea. Even if Arin knew, there were so many things that were unclear to her, so many things she had to figure out before she even considered it. When his kisses went lower to her neck, her mind was a muddled mix of everything at once. “I—” The noise she let out when his mouth pressed against a particular spot was not something suited for a library. Any public space, in fact, would frown upon it. “We—We can't do what I want.” But,  _ God, _ she wanted to.

He pulled back a little, their eyes meeting as he gave her a nod. “Jen… we can.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and it took everything in her to stay where she was. She closed her eyes. “We can’t.”

“We can,” he murmured before kissing her again.

She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to pull away from his touch and his lips, but she did for both their sakes. “We can't have sex. I still—”  _ don’t know what I want. _ She clutched him a little tighter at the thought. “I still can't do it.”

He really pulled back then, his eyes more panicked than they should’ve been. “I—” He cut himself off, breathing heavy. “Sorry, I... I promise I wasn't…”

Perhaps she was more innocent than she thought because he hadn’t seemed to realize what it exactly was that she was wanting to do. At the apology, she smiled and leaned in to kiss him again for a moment before pulling away. “I know. You're okay. Just keep kissing me.” She leaned in to kiss his neck, mostly because it was still easier to reach. “And keep touching me.”

“Where?” His hand was still on her thigh. She didn’t mind it. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

“You don’t have to worry,” she said into his neck before pulling away. “Anything above the waist is fair game. Anything below, ask first.”

Of all the things she expected him to react to, that was low on the list, but his brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment as he stared at her. “Jen.”

His hesitance made her smile widen just a bit, and she took the hand from her thigh to sit on her waist and the hand on her hair to the side of her face. It was a bit awkward in the position they were in, but she’d been in worse. “How about that?”

“You’re very…” His gaze went to his hand on her waist. “Bold.”

She’d been described as bold before. Not her least favorite descriptor. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

He smiled a little at that. “It can be both. But right now? Bad.”

She might’ve been worried, but the look in his eyes told her not to be. “How so?”

“Bad because you’re distracting me.” His smile widened a bit as he leaned closer. “And good because I think this is the most excitement this part of the library has ever had.”

“You mean no one's ever made out on these couches?” She glanced down at one of the couches in question before her eyes returned to his. “That's a pity. Why else have them up here?”

“I mean I can’t speak for everyone but I don’t think I have.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just curious.” She spared a glance at the shelves that were surrounding them. “Ever made out in the stacks?”

He tilted his head. “No, I haven’t.”

Another idea to test the waters that she wouldn’t be opposed to. It was always nice to plan things out in advance. “Maybe next time. We should probably…” She trailed off, pulling away a little to look at the undone buttons of his shirt. “That's a good look for you.”

His eyes went to his chest before returning to her. “Like I said, bad.”

Her hands trailed down to his shoulders, her thumb pressing into the bare skin of his collarbone. “Call it what you want. What'd you come up here for?” Her eyes went back to his as she smirked. “Before I distracted you, I mean.”

“I just came up here for some peace and quiet,” he answered as his hand reached up to cover hers on his chest.

Bothering him yet again, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it with the outcome this had. “Me too, though I'm not sure either of us got what we wanted.”

The look he gave her was almost comical, a mixture of surprise and  _ You’re full of shit. _ “No? You didn’t get what you wanted?” He tapped the hand that was rested on his chest like it was some sort of indicator of the fact.

She smirked because he really didn’t know that getting what she wanted involved them horizontal on a mattress while he made sure she was only thinking of him. “No, I can’t say I did.”

He leaned his head back against the sofa and sighed. “Well, then I guess we won’t need to do this again.”

Her eyes narrowed.  _ Playing dirty, I see. _ “I guess we won’t.”

“A shame, I think it really livened this area up,” he said with a sigh.

She surveyed the little nook. It was cute but not super decorated, almost an afterthought of the space. Somehow she liked it better that way. “Maybe next time we can give it a fresh coat of paint instead.”

“I wouldn't advise it unless you like living life on the edge.”

Her hands on his chest ventured up a little to his neck as she looked at him. “What if I do?”

“Then nothing can save you,” he said, leaning in a little closer, clearly amused but hiding it.

She leaned in a little as well, her thumb brushing against his neck as she tried to bite back a grin, definitely failing. “I've been a lost cause from the beginning.”

“I definitely wouldn't say you were lost a few minutes ago.” 

His hand went to her knee, and she had to take a moment to calm herself because she really wasn’t expecting the flirting. Her eyes returned to his. “I can't recall. What was I doing?”

He gave her knee a squeeze. Not her thigh, just the knee. This was okay. She leaned into the touch. “You don’t remember?”

Their faces were close. It would’ve been so easy to just kiss him again, but she liked the atmosphere around them now. She liked the way he was looking at her. “No, I'm afraid not. Nothing memorable happened, did it?”

He only squeezed her knee again. “Nothing at all.”

“Good. I'd hate to have missed anything meaningful.” Her hand on his neck trailed forward to rest over his shoulder, and she let herself smile a little wider.

He took a deep breath, his eyes glancing down to the arm on his shoulder. “You're very handsy, you know that?”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, not to tease but because she genuinely wanted to know. After everything he was doing and being so attentive to her, she would’ve hated for him to feel uncomfortable over any portion of this. She took his arm from her shoulder. “I can stop if you want me to.”

He looked at her like he was surprised but nodded. “Oh, if you want to you can.”

He’d nodded but still put it on her to make the decision, which wasn’t exactly helpful. “It's— I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I... You told me I can always say no, but I hope you know you can too.” She should’ve said this earlier. The fact that it had just now occurred to her made her feel even worse. “If I'm too handsy, you can tell me.”

His gaze on her softened a bit, and she let herself relax. “I know. Don't worry. Are you okay?”

She gave him the softest smile she could muster, setting her arm back onto his shoulder again. “I'm good. Everything was good.” Better than she could describe. “Are you?”

He was silent for a moment at her question, but he nodded. “I think so. Why? You worried I'm lying?”

She shook her head. “No, I'm not. At least, I don't think you are. I'm not the greatest judge of character, but you seem truthful to me.” At least, the truths that he let himself disclose. The others were a different story.

“I guess I try to be. Sometimes it's hard though.”

Jen understood that. As much as she wanted him to be truthful, she understood what it was like to harbor secrets. Even if a part of her wanted to tell him the rest, she knew she wouldn’t. They weren’t that close yet, so she wouldn’t pressure him. “We all have our secrets,” she simply said.

“But you trusted me with yours,” he told her, frowning. “You shouldn't have to keep that a secret.”

His hand kept stroking her knee, and she was grateful for the hint of reassurance. “It wasn’t just that,” she said softly, the words heavy on her tongue.  _ Tell him. _ She couldn’t. “I just... I can't talk about the rest.”

“Jen.” His voice was so soft now.

He gently lifted her knees off his lap, and, assuming what he means, she set her feet back on the floor, turning completely forward now. It was easier like this to think about how they’d gotten here, how things had escalated the way they did, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret much of it. “Thank you. For listening, I mean. Sorry I cried again.”

He turned toward her and leaned closer. “Don't thank me and don't apologize.”

She matched his gaze again, a small smile on her lips. “Thanking is polite. I thought you would know that by now.”

“I guess it is,” Arin said as he looked forward again, hands going to his shirt to redo the buttons of his shirt, and she watched him with a smile, a little dissatisfied her work was being undone but not mind the sight too much. When he finished, he stood with a tired sigh, and she followed him, walking over to the couch in front of them to grab her book again before turning back to him.

He took a deep breath and brought his hands to run through his hair, fixing some of the mess they’d made but mostly making it worse. “I guess you probably have stuff you want to get back to?”

She wasn’t sure running through various scenarios of her assault was considered acceptable conversation topics, so she just huffed a laugh at the idea that he thought she was busy with  _ anything. _ “No, but I'll let you have your peace and quiet.”

“I—” He faltered a bit. “I should probably go to bed honestly.”

It was still early. She doubted a man who never seemed to sleep was going to bed before the sun even completely set, but she wouldn’t say anything on the subject. “Have fun.” She moved closer to stand in front of him, still clutching the book of hers like a life preserver. “I'd like the record to show that I do trust you.” She glanced away, not really sure why she was saying this. After their conversation earlier, he’d just seemed bothered. Maybe not with her life yet, but in some kind of way. “If you didn't already know.”

He audibly sucked in a breath. “Okay.” He nodded a little. “Thank you.”

The change in atmosphere was apparent, but she was sure it was just him being awkward and not anything. Things were said and done, and if he needed time to process, she would give it to him. “I’m gonna…” She gestured her head to the direction of the exit.

He nodded. “Of course.” But he seemed like he had something to say, so she didn’t move quite yet. “Jen?”

“Yeah?”

There was a pause for a long moment, silence stretching on. In the end, he simply said, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” she asked because it really didn’t seem like nothing.

He nodded again, but his eyes didn’t meet hers. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He stepped away from her then and walked off, leaving Jen clutching her book and staring down at the couch with the dog collar he’d forgotten still lying there.


End file.
